Thorns
by HomeschoolGirl
Summary: They said he had a granddaughter. They also said he loved Roses. She is both of those.
1. The Ride

Hi Guys!

So, here we go! New story. About President Snow's granddaughter, fittingly named, "Rose." Mwahahaha!

I will try to make this book brutal, LIKE the Hunger Games, but I've never (ever) done a book with violence. Argh! I'm going to try my hardest, though. (-_-)

Tips:

1) Don't get too attached to any specific characters.

Um...I think that's the best advice I can give you! LOL!

So, *deep breath* here it goes.

Oh, and I want to say "Hi!" to any _You Love Me _people that have followed me over to this story. Thanks again for reading it and your reviews meant so much to me! :)

Okay. I'm gonna stop now. :D

*hugs*

-Homey

**Disclaimer:** Suzanne Collins created The Hunger Games, Panem, and any other District characters mentioned here. Rose, Art, Karryoun, Sander...they're kind of mine. I created the names. I created the personalities. Suzanne Collins is the one who gave me the "base" to start!

©HomeschoolGirl 2012, characters and plot. Please don't use this as your own. Thanks!

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><p>I've known about The Hunger Games since I was born.<p>

The Capitol loves it. We eat it up, year after year, relishing in the death of young teenagers. It's never seemed wrong to me, but it's also never seemed right.

As I'm here, on the train, I realize how very wrong it actually was.

Did all the boys and girls before me feel this way? Did they dig their fingernails into their palms until they bled? Did they wake up screaming at night? Did they take it calmly that death was irrevocably theirs, or did they fight it?

Art sits across from me, completely oblivious to the fact that we are going to have to kill each other. I stare at him with disgust as he shovels food into his mouth. But I suppose I understand. It's been a long time since we've had a good meal.

"Are you gonna eat that?" He asks around a mouthful of gosling, eyeing my plate hungrily. I grimace.

"No. Take it. Take the whole damn thing. Won't make any difference. We're all going to die out there."

He looks at me for a long moment, swallowing and grinning the grin I know so well. "Who says? You or them?"

"Them-" I begin, then reconsider. "Me. Both? I don't know!"

He gives me a knowing look and plucks a piece of the juicy meat from my plate. "God knows we haven't eaten like this in ages. Appreciate it."

I cross my arms stubbornly. "They're taunting us, Art, don't you see it?"

"So?" Nothing bothers Art.

"So it's…it's wrong. It's unfair. It's unjust."

"It's a lot of things," he says, taking a drink of milk. "But it's also good!"

At last I smile hesitantly and he laughs.

"There's your pretty grin, Rose. Now eat. You'll need to keep your strength up if you want to…" He trails off, seeing my eyes harden.

"I'm tired," I say in a disturbing, controlled voice that doesn't sound like my own. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

"Rose-"

I cut off Art as I march down the hall and slam my bedroom door.

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><p>I didn't want to be Snow's granddaughter. I didn't ask for it. When he died, I wasn't sad. When people ask me about it, though, I tell them I loved him. I tell them he was a good man. That usually gets them to shut up.<p>

In truth he was horrible. He committed unforgivable acts, took countless lives. I began hating him when I saw how he treated my mother. He made every day miserable for her up until her death. I'm sure any way out was merciful at that point.

I wasn't old enough to fully understand but I remember standing there, seven years old, an innocent witness to his abuse.

"You're worthless!" He screamed.

Mom stood in the far corner, cowering away from him. "Daddy…I….I…"

"Don't call me daddy you...you...I don't want any part of you! Pregnant, again? Who was it with this time, hm? Who was it with?"

"Daddy…Rose is here."

"So? She's your offspring! She's filthy. Used. I don't want any part of her."

She turned away from him, then, toward me. Marching forward, she took my hand. I remember feeling so safe the moment those slender fingers closed around my plump ones.

"Let's go," she said in a shaky voice. "Grandpa has business to attend to."

I never saw her cry, though I'm sure she did. How could she not? She was living a life she didn't want, with a daughter she didn't want, and a demon for a father.

She died when she went into labor. Her petite body couldn't handle the twins she was carrying. I don't think the doctors tried that hard to save her, either. The babies were buried in a nondescript coffin right along with her. Later, I got two dolls and pretended they were my brother and sister. As if they could ever make up for losing them.

Snow insisted on me calling him grandpa, although to other people I called him many different names, some of them no child should ever say. I loathed him with a passion. I wanted him dead, buried in one of those boxes, like my mother.

As I got older, and Art moved into the mansion with his mother, things got better. Dorie was a sweet lady who looked after me-kind of like a nursemaid. In return for her kindness, I worshipped the ground she walked on. She was gentle, always had kisses to give, and never said a harsh word.

I told Art he was lucky. He just laughed and said she was overprotective.

"At least you have a mom," I pointed out.

He didn't say anything after that.

That was when we were fourteen, and four more harsh years would come before we were assigned this fate. Things were bearable up until the year Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark were entered in the Games. That year, I watched them with bated breath along with the rest of the world. Katniss, my own age respectively, seemed so brave and strong and sure. Peeta was there for her, loving her, the perfect boyfriend.

I decided I wanted a boyfriend of my own and enlisted Art to fill the position. After a very awkward instance when we went _much_ too far, we decided just to remain friends. That left me still pining for a Peeta of my own and I began to experiment with other boys. Things got worse with Snow after Katniss won-and even worse as he finally noticed how many suitors I entertained. He called me names he used to call mom, he slapped me and told me he hated me. I yelled it right back at him.

He might have been planning to kill me; I don't know. But then all hell broke loose with the District Eight uprising, and his attention was diverted. I watched as it all played out on screen, until it eventually trickled away into real life. My life.

After they captured Snow, they imprisoned the rest of us. Everyone from the mansion was put in cells, Dorie, Art and I included. We stayed there for a few months until they announced there was to be a final Games.

"What do you mean?" I asked when they told me.

The man-Plutarch, I think-looked at me coldly, sternly. "I mean that you're going to be entered in the Hunger Games. All of you between the ages of twelve and eighteen, please step forward."

There were twenty-six of us. Nadine Samski got off the hook because she was three days away from turning nineteen, and they said newly-twelve Poyka Delaney was allowed to live. That left twenty-four of us; me and some of my best friends.

Which was just peachy. Because I'm going to have to kill them.

I have no choice.

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><p>I spend the rest of the train ride in silence. I have no idea where they're taking us, until some servant on the train finally spills the news that we are going to Thirteen. They've built up a whole training center there, like we used to do to them.<p>

But it's not my fault. It's _not_ my fault.

The day we pull in, Art is his usual, unrealistically cheerful self. Sander and Karryoun, two of our friends who rode on the same train with us, act as if nothing life-altering has happened. But it hits me, over and over again. Only one will live. I have a feeling it won't be me.

"I wonder if they'll let us go shopping," Karryoun muses as she threads her arm through mine. We step down onto the train platform, the smell of coal in the air, stinging our noses. She brushes a blonde curl back from her face. "It's…quaint, to say the least."

Until now, I haven't even taken notice of District Thirteen's appearance, but it's nothing like they showed on TV. It's built back up, bustling with people and buildings and business. I see men and women entering shops and leaving them. They're all smiling, as if life couldn't get any better for them.

Assholes.

"Look at them," I sneer in Art's ear as we are prodded forward by a guard. I turn to glare at the man, who glares right back. "They don't even care that we're going to die."

"Rose," he says in a reprimanding tone. "We're _not_ going to die."

I frown. "Our chances of coming out alive are maybe one percent. And…and the chances of coming out _together_…" I catch my breath. "There's no hope."

He wraps an arm around me and squeezes me shoulder. "Calm down. We'll be fine. You'll be fine."

I notice he doesn't say that he'll be fine.

Karryoun, oblivious to the entire conversation, turns and waves seductively at the guard. He takes in all five foot three of her curvy frame, and his eyes widen.

"You're cute," she says with a giggle. I see the corners of his mouth twitching. He things she's just a stupid, easy blonde. Ha! As if.

Karryoun often plays this game with many people, and she always does it to get what she wants. She knows the effect she has on people, mainly guys, and uses that to her advantage. Pretending to be stupid and head-over-heels is one of her tactics.

"Move on," he says, clearing his throat. When I stop walking he nudges me forward with the tip of his gun, which earns him a glare from Art.

"Maybe we can…get together later?" Karryoun suggests, twirling a finger up his arm. He frowns at her bravery.

He clears his throat. "Miss, I'm going to have to ask you to keep walking."

Karryoun giggles, wiggles her hips, and flips her hair. "Fine, fine. You want to play hard-to-get? Well, I'm game!"

And with that she turns, strutting forward to take her place by Sander. The guy looks after her, stunned, then realizes I'm staring.

"Keep walking!" He barks, earning stares from several passersby. Recognition dawns on their faces and they rush forward in one simultaneous heard, asking our names and scrutinizing us, already betting on who is most likely to win The Games.

"They're bloodthirsty," Sander hisses.

Art grins. "They're awesome."

Karryoun gets a little puckered line between her eyebrows, which means she's worried. She takes a good look at us, her friends, taller than her and stronger looking.

"I'm going to die," she whimpers, swaying on her feat.

I reach out to steady her. "Look, it'll be okay. You're going to try. If you say you're going to die then…then you will. It's all about attitude!"

She closes her eyes and then opens them, offering me a timid smile. "You think?"

"I'm sure," I lie through gritted teeth.

I can tell she doesn't buy it, but she thanks me anyway. I see that we're now almost to the Training Center. The Guard behinds us waves the remaining overzealous fans off and herds us forward.

"You'll need to line up by security once inside," he explains, ushering us through the double glass doors. They swish shut behind him, and there's a ding, like a bell. He rolls his eyes. "Great. That means we're the last ones."

Our group of four splits up, girls going in one direction, guys in another. I watch as Karryoun, one place ahead of me in line, gets her fingerprints taken, blood drawn, weighed, and measured. At last the man gives her a nod and she moves forward.

"Hi," he says as I walk up. "Have a seat."

I slide in the plastic chair in front of him. He takes my hand, gently pressing my index finger down on an inkpad.

"So, how was your trip?"

I consider answering him with a sarcastic remark, but sigh instead. "It was…okay, I suppose. Not my best three days."

He looks up at me from under a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. "You know, that's the first honest answer I've heard all day." Another finger is pressed into the inkpad, and then onto an index card, which he scans to be stored in their computer system.

I shrug. "I could say it was wonderful and fun and exciting, but then I'd be lying. And an idiot."

He chuckles. "Well, I'm somewhat of a therapist, so I deal with idiots all the time." He hands me an alcohol pad and I rub the ink off my fingers. "Name's Dr. Aurelius. You?"

"Rose."

His eyes brighten with understand. "Ah, you're Snow's-"

"Granddaughter," I finish, averting his gaze. "The one and only."

I notice when he takes my arm, his hands are a bit shaky. He plunges a needle into my vein, draws a dropperful of blood, and sets the plastic tube aside.

"You know, it's not contagious," I snap.

He looks up at me. "Pardon?"

"Being like him. I didn't catch it, so neither will you."

He blushes, ashamed. "I'm sorr-"

I cut him off by standing and slipping my shoes off, hurrying over to the scale. He marks my weight down and takes my height. I'm five foot five. Average.

"Thanks," I mumble as I slip my shoes back on.

He looks over his shoulder. "You're the last one of the day. How about I show you to your room?"

"Fine," I agree reluctantly.

We walk, and he fills me in on the place, what food's best, and basically anything else I'd need to know. But not the important stuff. Not the things I'll need to know in order to survive. Never those.

"So here we are," he says at last, stopping in front of a door marked 305. I turn to him and give a short nod before slipping inside. There it is. Goodbye. I won't ever see him again, not that I wanted to. He's like the rest of them. Arrogant. Selfish. Unforgiving.

There's that word-the key to all of this. Forgive.

I plop down on my bed, knowing that they're serving a meal in the cafeteria soon but not hungry enough to go. My appetite is ruined.

These Districts are punishing us kids. The ones who didn't have any say. We're not responsible for what happened-but they still want us. They want to hurt our parents and grandparents, Aunts and Uncles, cousins and friends in the worst way.

They want to take us from them.

I realize only one of us will live, but I'm not even sure I _want_ it to be me. What's the point? People like Art, Sander, and Karryoun. They have so much to offer. But then there's me: Rose. Named after my grandfather's favorite flower. Tied to him in inexplicable ways. I'll always be living in his shadow. Like with Dr. Aurelius: They're hear my name, and they'll tremble, and they'll run. Because, in their minds, I'm just another one of him. I deserve to die.

As soon as I think the words, I stiffen. I imagine mother, a beautiful life wasted, and then I imagine what Dorie's reaction to my thoughts would be like.

When we said goodbye, she straightened the collar of my dress, and her eyes met mine. "Now you, Rose Snow, are going to _try_. Do you hear me?"

I nodded mutely.

She frowned, unsatisfied. "I mean it."

"I know," I said.

And then she'd fixed me with one of her signature, purse-lipped, hands-on-hips glares that sent my cheeks burning with shame.

"If you give up, I'm gonna be _pissed_ as _hell_. You understand?"

My eyes widened. Art laughed from across the room.

"I understand," I whispered at last, hoarsely.

And here I am. I know if Dorie could see me, she _would_ be pissed. She'd go on and on about how beautiful I was, how I was wasting my life.

But I'm not. I have no life to waste.

Art knocks on my door a while later, and comes shuffling in with a muffin in his hands and a sheepish expression on his face.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey, back," I say.

He strides over to hand me the muffin. I sit up and take it, picking off a piece of the crusty corner and stuffing it into my mouth. I hadn't realized I was hungry.

"Thanks," I murmur after a while.

He hesitates, and then sits down on my bed beside me. "You weren't at dinner."

"Duh," I say, offering him a smile. "The Mr. Obvious award of the year goes to, you guessed it, Artimus Pride!"

He wrinkles his nose. "I hate my name."

"Agreed."

He grins. "You hate my name?"

"No, I hate my own name."

"I think it suits you."

I turn, shove against him so he falls onto his back, and sit on his stomach. "Don't you ever say that again, you idiot. My name sucks."

"Okay," he huffs, gasping for breath. "You weigh a ton…get off."

I pick myself up off him and go to sit on the edge of my bed. The muffin, so appetizing before, is slightly unappealing. I chuck it toward a garbage can in the corner but it misses and lands on the carpet.

"So are we going to be interviewed by Caesar Flickerman?" I ask after a moment.

Art shrugs beside me. "Maybe."

I sigh. "So, how is everyone taking it?"

"Like it's some big party."

"Huh, I would have thought you assumed the same."

He raises his eyebrows, giving me a knowing look. "There's a difference between cracking a few jokes and being okay with dying, Rose."

"Really? Because I don't see one," I mumble, picking at a loose thread on my dress.

"What?"

"Nothing."

There is a long, slightly awkward pause before Art lays his hand on my shoulder. "We'll try to find a way. Like those people Kat and Pete."

"Katniss and Peeta," I correct.

"Right." Art sighs. "There has to be a way."

"Like, how?"

"Maybe…maybe everyone could agree to just not kill each other. That would have to stop them, right?"

I shake my head. "They'd just…then they'd kill us themselves. Kill us all."

Art stands and heads for my door. "It's worth a try."

I shake my head. "No, it's not."

He pauses before he turns and handle and grins at me. "Just as a heads up: tomorrow is training. I suggest you be there at breakfast."

"And what if I'm not?"

He rolls his eyes. "Be there, Rose."

I stick my tongue out as he leaves, making him laugh. I allow myself a smile. I might as well enjoy the last few days of my life.

I go and pick the muffin up off the floor, take a bite.


	2. The First Glimpse

Hi Guys!

**THANK YOU SO MUCH** for following me to this story! I'm up to seventeen reviews already. WOW! :)

Hopefully you like this chapter. :D Thanks for all the feedback.

While you're here, you guys should totally check out my best friend's story: Bright Midnight. Her name is Kassady and she's listed under my favorite authors. Here's the link to her story:

fanfiction(dot)net/s/8020616/1/Bright_Midnight

It's a Twilight fanfic, and I can't wait to read more. For anyone who loves Twilight, there ya go!

On another note, you guys will find that Rose is almost nothing like Snow or most Capitol children. I will in later chapters go deeper into the different characters, their histories, and who they are-but these are just glimpses on the surface! Does anyone like Karryoun? I do! Haha! I love the name. :D

Sorry for not updating in such a long time. :P I had a busy Easter and family visited us! It was fun! We played with nerf guns. haha!

Thanks so much!

-Homey :)

**Disclaimer: **You'll find at least one character in this chapter created by Suzanne Collins, who also created The Hunger Games. That was not my idea!

©HomeschoolGirl 2012, characters and plot. Please don't use this as your own. Thanks!

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><p>I make my way down to the cafeteria in the morning. Warily, I peek around the corner. Everyone sits at tables, eating vigorously. About ninety-five percent of the people are Capitol children, the rest trainers or chaperons of some type.<p>

I grab something to eat and had over to Art's table, where he sits with Karryoun, Sander, and our other friends: Bena, Emera, and Tercer.

"Hi," I say, plopping my tray down on the table.

They all greet me with a smile-every last one of them. It makes me furious. How could they possibly smile?

I sit down next to Art and am about to point out that fact when Emera lets out a whine, putting her head in her hands.

"I don't like working out. I hope training isn't hard."

Bena rolls her eyes. "Please, Emera. That's going to be the easiest part."

"That's because you're skinny! And athletic!"

I reach forward to pluck a crumb of toast from Bena's pecan-colored hair. It hangs, straight and long, casting shadows over her angular face.

"Don't forget this."

She takes it and shoves it into her mouth, causing Bena to squeal and point out how disgusting she is. I notice Karryoun, for the first time since sitting down. She's quiet, reserved. So unlike herself.

"Well, I'm psyched for training," Sander says, slapping his hands down on the table. "I can't wait to show them who's boss."

Karryoun rolls her eyes. "Shut up, Sander."

"Ooh, someone's touchy," he teases, bumping against her shoulder.

She glares at him. "I said shut up."

Emera folds her arms across her chest. "Who do these people think they are, anyways? Like, our leaders? As if. For years we ruled them."

"You didn't," Tercer says. "Snow did."

They all turn to look at me, then, looking apologetic.

"Don't be sorry," I say, "It's true."

"Aren't you sad?" Bena asks, laying her hand on my wrist. "If you need to talk about him, we're here-"

"No! I'm not sad. It's the best thing that ever happened to me."

Karryoun's face crumples. "Don't say that, Rose."

"It's true! We're all here because of him."

Art purses his lips. "We should-"

We're interrupted as a loudspeaker crackles to life.

"All twenty-four of our tributes are expected to be in the training room within ten minutes. Not attending will result in consequence. Please go to your proper locker rooms to shower and suit up. I repeat: all trainees are expected to be in the training room within ten minutes."

The sound fades away and everyone rises. I feel empty as I shuffle toward the trashcans and dump my tray in. Art waves at me before heading off toward the boy's locker rooms. I hurry along with Karryoun. She keeps her eyes trained on the ground.

"We'll stick together," I tell her as we enter the long room. It's harshly lit, with the blinding white lights reflecting off the long rows of mirrors. I take my clothes off and shove them into a locker, wet my hair, and slip into the training new suit. It's vinyl, and the material sticks to my skin. I don't have anything to wear under it.

"This sucks," Karryoun says as she pulls her hair back into a ponytail. "I look like a dog with wet hair and I don't have any makeup."

I purse my lips. "You look fine."

She throws me an incredulous look. "Fine?"

"Great. Pretty. Whatever."

A girl brushes past me, knocking her shoulder into mine. I turn and frown. It's Briar, my friend that I hadn't since our arrest. My grimace quickly turns into a smile.

"Hi, Briar," I say.

She ignores me, just keeps walking.

I turn and look at Karryoun, wide-eyed. "Why is she…?"

"I don't know, Rose. I'm sorry."

I take a shaky breath. "It's okay. Let's go."

We meet up with Art and Sander, following them down to a double pair of glass doors. Sander opens them hesitantly, and we step in.

The room is filled with mats, weapons, ropes, leaves…you name it. It's several feet tall, with a balcony overhead. This is also where the new Gamemakers will score us. I wonder what I'll get. Probably a one, just because of who I am.

"Line up! Boy-girl-boy-girl," a woman barks. Her brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail and she has a severe look about her.

"I wish she would shut up," I whisper to Art as we line up, me behind him. In these tight-fitting suits, I can easily see he's not as weak as I thought he was. Lean muscles ripple under the thin layer of material, and his neck is taunt and straight.

"Did you hear what I said, Rose?"

"Huh?" I jump a little, a red blush coloring my cheeks. "Um, no. I was looking over at the rope area."

"Oh, yeah." He throws a quick glance over to where boxes of different ropes sit. The colors range from dark brown to almost white, and they're different widths, lengths, and styles. Maybe I'll go over there.

"Stop talking, all of you," the woman snaps, heading to stand in the front of the room. "And listen up. As you know, twenty-three of you are going to die. I know that's not a comforting thought, but I've been through it twice, and believe me, it's not as hard as it sounds."

"She's full of it," I mutter.

Art laughs. "Don't you know who she is?"

I shake my head.

"Johanna Mason. She's been in The Hunger Games twice."

"Oh! That's _her_?"

"You bet."

"She's…different."

Art raises his eyebrows. "How?"

"Well…she…her body…"

"What?"

"You're a guy! How come I see it and you don't?"

"See what?"

I poke him in the back. "She's filled out."

"Oh." He looks back at her. "And?"

"And…you don't find her attractive?"

He throws an incredulous look over his shoulder. "What are you, jealous?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Really Rose. Are you?"

I turn my head the other direction, refusing to answer. I'm not the least bit interested in playing games with him.

"You _are_ jealous, aren't you?"

"Absolutely not!"

"Uh-huh. Sure."

"I'm not!"

"Yup." He rolls his eyes and faces forward. "You know, now that I think about it, Johanna really does have nice-"

I pinch his arm before he can finish. He squirms and I press my nails together. When I pull my hand back, the fabric has a small slit in it and blood is seeping through.

"What the hell, Rose? When's the last time you cut your nails?"

I blow the tips of my fingers, waving them around like a gun. "Don't mess with me, Art. I don't like playing games."

"That sounds like a threat."

"Maybe it is."

"You two," Johanna snaps, marching down to where we're standing. She grabs hold of our arms, rather forcefully if you ask me, and drags us forward. Art gives me a suggestive look and then shifts his gaze to her chest. Nice.

"Since you find talking about me so amusing-" Art gapes; he's been caught. "I figure you'll be the first two up. Now, go ahead. Kill each other."

I freeze, staring at her. "Now?"

"Not now, you imbecile! Act like you're going to. Fight!"

I turn toward him, raising my fists. He quickly does the same. His face has taken on this determined look, and a little line settles between his eyes. It's kind of cute, you know, in a platonic way.

"Three…two…one…go!"

Art lunges forward, grabbing me around the waist with his arm. He takes me down in one fell swoop. My head bangs against the mat, which is surprisingly hard, and for a second my vision slants.

I quickly gain my bearings and use my elbows to propel me forward, sending me crashing into Art. He totters unsteadily on his knees before he falls to his back, taking me with him. We sit, looking at one another in stony silence, breathing labored.

"That's good," Johanna says quietly. "You can go back in line, now."

I notice the room has gone dead silent. People are no longer chattering, just staring. At me. At him. At us.

I stand up and brush past him without word, banging my shoulder against his as I go. Art sways on his feet before turning and lining up behind me.

We watch without word as our friends are pinned against each other. Right away, it's clear who has a chance of winning. Briar easily tackles scrawny Dorin, sending a fist to his nose in the process. After Johanna reprimands them for getting too rough, she sends Briar to the 'winners' side of the training room, where Sander, Tercer, a boy named Wain and a girl named Kayla stand.

My heart cries out as I watch Bena easily pin Karryoun to the ground. Tears spring to her eyes as she struggles under her muscular arms.

"That's enough!" Johanna exclaims. "Bena, go stand next to Briar. Karryoun, other side of the room."

One-by-one, people are paired off and split up. It pains me to see the weaker side of the room. I don't want anyone to die. I don't-

"Artimus and Master, you're up."

Master, a short boy with a self-assured stride, jumps up on the mat, flexing his arms. I watch nervously as Art, much skinner and breakable looking, stands directly in front of him.

"Go!" Johanna calls.

The two boys charge forward. Master is all muscle, while Art is skill. For several seconds, they avoid each other's attacks. At last Master sends a fist into Art's chest, and my friend crumples to the ground. The fight is won.

"Good job," Johanna says, looking at her clipboard. "Master, go stand there-" winners' side, of course, "-and you, Artimus, over there."

I watch with a sinking heart as my friend hurries over to go stand next to Karryoun. They smile at each other and then he whispers something in her ear that makes her laugh. Jealousy twitches in my stomach.

"The last two of you, Rose and Holly, up here."

I recognize Holly from school-a girl with an unusually pinched-looking nose and narrow features. Her fashions were atrocious and always gave Art and I a good laugh. Now, though, she looks as mainstream as the rest of us. She's in the same plain, nondescript suit, but her dyed-red hair does give her an unusual appearance.

"May the best girl win," I say with a smile, offering my hand.

"Woman," she corrections, wrinkling that hooked nose of hers with disdain.

I swagger up to the mat, already assured I'm going to win, when Johanna blows the bell and I'm on my back.

How did that happen so fast? What the-

I wriggle under a surprisingly heavy Holly, who has thrown herself against me. Her fingernails, more like claws than mine, dig into both sides of my face. The wild, untamed glint in her eye scares me. She wants this. She wants me dead.

"You're done," Johanna says. When Holly makes no move, she pulls her off of me. "I said you're done! Now, go join Master."

I get to my feet, clutching my bleeding face, and hurry over to where Art is standing. Karryoun greets me with open arms, whispering about the unfairness of this all. She pats at the blood on my face with a strip of cloth from her suit. It's not very absorbent.

"They should take care of that," she muses with a frown. She tosses the piece of fabric aside. "That's the least they can do. We at least kept their tributes from killing each other until they were in the arena."

"Yeah," Art agrees, looking at me with concern. "What was that?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Some sort of unbridled rage, I guess."

Dorin, who stands next to Art, offers us a smile. "Well, I'm glad to be the underdogs. It's more fun this way." I note that his nose has finally stopped bleeding.

"I'm not," I say, honest as ever. "We're going to be militated out there. They're going to go for us-the weakest links-and then take each other out."

"Actually, it'll probably be the exact opposite," Art argues. "They see that they beat us. They're going to be checking each other out. They'll leave us for later, since we don't seem as big of a threat."

"I guess that makes sense," I say at last, still clutching my cheek. "This is all unfair, though. I'm not sure how much longer I can take it."

"We're only on day two. We have twelve more to go."

"Crap."

Art slings an arm around me, then Karryoun. "We'll stick together okay, guys? We have an advantage that the other tributes didn't. We know each other. We care about each other. We're going to make it."

I shake my head. "It's better if you don't care, Art. Even if it comes down to the three of us, we'll have to kill each other."

Karryoun lets out a whimper, looking around her. "I can't kill anyone out there. I know everyone. _Everyone_. Killing anyone is like killing a part of me."

"Then we wait," I say. "We bide our time. They can't…well; some of them are going to turn into total savages out there. They'll kill whomever they can. Then we'll get them, the ones who aren't like they used to be."

"They're still people, Rose. Don't turn into your grandfather!"

The words go straight to my core, and I slap her. "Don't ever say that."

Karryoun grabs her cheek and fixes me with a look that could kill. "Isn't that something he would do, Rose? Hit people if he didn't like what they had to say?" She makes a sound of disgust in her throat. "You're no better than him."

She marches off to go stand at the farthest end of the group, away from me. Art won't look in my direction.

"I didn't mean that," I whisper at last. "I didn't mean to hurt her."

He swallows. "I think you did."

My eyes well with tears and I resist to urge to kick him. "Well, believe what you want to. But I didn't."

I turn my back to him and huff angrily, paying rapt attention to Johanna.

"Now, you'll all begin the training process. There are several stations set up around here that you may use to practice knife throwing, sword-fighting, camouflage and rope-tying, among other things. Do not hurt each other, and use your time wisely. No roughhousing or joking around. Go."

I instantly head for the ropes, where I sink to my knees and start tying knots. It's slow work, and annoying. I'm joined by the red-haired girl named Kayla and some kid who introduces himself as Uzzi. They're both on the winners' side.

"I saw you slap your friend over there," she says quietly. "What did she say?"

I shake my head. "Nothing."

Uzzi grins. "Aw, come on. Share with us!"

I glare at them. "I said nothing."

Kayla shrugs. "Leave her alone, Uzzi. She doesn't need anymore trouble."

We spend the next fifteen minutes in silence before Kayla stands.

"It was nice meeting you, Rose. I'll see you around."

"Sure, sure," I mumble.

Uzzi is quick to follow Kayla, leaving me alone.

I tie knots for several more minutes before a shadow passes over me. An arm snakes its way around my waist and I feel someone's breath at my ear.

"She'll get over it, Rose," Art whispers.

I shake my head, unnerved by his closeness. "No, she won't. I acted like a total idiot. I'm no better than Snow."

"Don't say that."

"It's true."

"Even if it is, don't say it. I don't want you to think like that."

I turn and glare at him. "Say it comes down to you and me, Art. Who's going to kill who? Are we going to kill ourselves?"

"It won't," he says with finality. "If I have to make it easy for someone to take me out, I will. Then you can win."

"I don't want to win! Why doesn't anyone understand that? I don't want to win. I'd rather die in the first bloodbath than waste my time trying to survive."

He shakes his head. "I don't believe you."

"Well, do! Believe me! I don't want this."

"Try to want it, Rose. Try to want it."

I turn, glaring into his eyes. "Tell me one person I have to go home to, Art. Tell me one." I pause, giving him a chance to answer. "That's right; I don't have anyone. I don't have a boyfriend, I don't have family, I don't even really have friends-at least not any that will be alive after this."

"Get a boyfriend, Rose. Have a family. It wouldn't take much."

I clench my fists. "And what if I don't want one? What if you and Karryoun and Dorie are all the family I want?"

"Then that's sad," he spits, pushing himself up off the ground. "You have meaning, Rose. Don't forget it."

I offer him a sad smile. "Art, it's you who has meaning. You could have any girl you want. You have a mother and a home and a future. I don't want to play around with you. I'm not worth it. I'm not worth dying for."

"What if I think you are?"

I laugh, trying to lighten the intensity of the situation, turning back to the knots. "Better go check on Karryoun for me. I want to make sure she's holding up."

He walks off without word, leaving me feeling hollow. Something burns in my throat. I don't know if it's sadness or hope. I have a hard time distinguishing the two, as hope seems to be born from sorrow.

And I don't even know if I'm sad.


	3. The Kitchen

Hey Guys! :)

I'm sorry I haven't updated in a while. :P

I'm going to try to get better. LOL!

Sorry-this chapter is kind of short-but I wanted to give you something to read.

Thanks! Thoughts? I love the reviews! *hugs*

-Homey :)

**Disclaimer: **These characters might be mine, but the Hunger Games was the work of the one and only Suzanne Collins.

©HomeschoolGirl 2012, characters and plot. Please don't use this as your own. Thanks!

* * *

><p>Emera was right: training sucks.<p>

That's all we do for the next five days. I climb ropes, I throw knives, I sword fight with Kayla, who turns out to be very nice-I even try bow and arrow shooting, Katniss-style, which I'm horrible at.

Several kids end up joining in the bow and arrow contests, even Master, who apologizes to Art for hurting him. We all stand together, laughing as we take turns missing targets and impersonating Katniss and Peeta.

Johanna stands behind us, watching, eyes dark. She doesn't stop us, though. She lets us have our fun. I decide I like her after all.

With our impending doom upon us, I do find it hard to remain happy. Each smile, each laugh, each playful joke is soured with the knowledge that most of us are going to die. I still have a hard time believing it's not going to be all of us. The Districts are out for blood, not that I can blame them. Even the winner is going to have a hell of a life.

I hope it's Art who wins. Or Karryoun. Or Sander. Or Kayla. There are so many people that deserve life. The most I can hope for is that someone I love makes it out of the arena alive.

I find time to apologize to Karryoun, who smiles sadly at me and says simply, "You're forgiven."

On the night before the tribute judging, I invite Kayla and Karryoun over for a sleepover. They sneak into my room, loaded down with pillows and blankets and even some junk food, rare finds I haven't tasted in ages.

"Oh god," I exclaim, stuffing a cheese puff into my mouth. "Where did you find this? It's delicious!"

Kayla snickers. "The fat cook keeps them in a special part of the kitchen. I had to sneak in to steal them." She licks some cheddar dust from her fingers. "Not that it matters, though. She won't notice. She has, like, ten of everything."

I grin and shove a few more in my mouth. "Then let's eat, by all means!"

Karryoun tries one of the cheese puffs but wrinkles her nose. "All I taste is grease. Not even cheese."

"That's the point!" Kayla exclaims. "They're calorie-packed heaven!" She rolls her eyes back in her head, exaggerating, clutching the bag to her chest. "Oh, how I love thy cheesy puffs of goodness! How I love thy grease that drips onto my fingers. Oh, how I love catching thy grease in my mouth and eating every last delicious, crunchy crumb!"

"Ode to cheese puffs!" I say with a giggle, pretending to faint.

Karryoun shakes her head, laughing. "You two are crazy. Now, this-" She holds up a bar of chocolate. "Is heaven. It's filled with cream." She takes a bite and nods. "This beats your stinky cheese puffs any day."

I shake my head. "I pick tastiness over sugar any day."

"Me too," Kayla agrees.

Together, we polish off the rest of the cheese puffs, and she sends me to sneak a couple more bags out of the kitchen. I make it there undetected, and lucky for me, the kitchen it empty, the lights turned out. I reach out to grab the door handle to go in by am met with resistance. It's locked.

"No…" I whisper quietly, shaking the doors. Still, they don't budge. Great. Kayla will kill me if I don't come back with more cheese puffs.

I sneak around the length of the room, looking for another entrance, but there is none. At last I resolve I'll just have to head back. I'm on my way out when I hear voices.

Quickly, I duck behind a trashcan, pressing my back up against the wall and holding my breath. The feet stop, not far away from where I am, and I hear the jingle of some sort of metal.

"Are you sure those are the keys?" A familiar voice hisses, but I can't place it.

"Yeah," a distinctly male tone answers. It sounds like Art.

I peek my head around the corner, wanting to see for myself, but the people have already gone inside. I sigh and head for the doors, praying to find them unlocked.

This time, when I tug on the handle, I am met with slack. I breathe a sigh of relief and slip quietly inside.

The kitchen is completely dark, illuminated only by one small light to my left. I take in the massive countertops, three stoves, and four sinks. Slowly, I creep forward, searching for the cabinet Kayla described to me.

Then I hear the sound of squishing. It takes me a moment to realize it's lips. Lips on lips. Gross. Unsure of where the sound is coming from, I slow my steps, and sink to the floor, crawling on my hands and knees. As I go farther, the room gets darker.

The sound gets louder, and my breathing gets quieter, until I find the cabinet. The noise is so close, now, the people can't be more than a few feet away. I reach my hand out and feel along the cabinets, finally touching the one with the unique handle. That's where cook keeps the good stuff. I smile and slowly open the cabinet.

It creaks. Like, loud.

The kissing sound stops and then the guy speaks.

"Hello?"

Holy crap, it _is_ Art. I hold my breath, willing myself not to move, not to ask him what the hell he's doing here in the middle of the night with some unidentified girl.

"Someone's in here," the girl hisses.

"I know," Art replies. I hear his sneakers squeak against the floor as he stands. He walks forward, rendered blind, as this end of the kitchen is in complete darkness. The thing I've been dreading so much happens when his legs find me, or rather, smack right into my butt. I bite my lip to keep from shouting at him.

"Who is this?" He demands as he bends over, feeling along my back. He gives me a push and I'm sent sprawling on my stomach. I quickly roll over, unthinking. His hands move to my face. For some reason, I feel it unnecessary to alert him of who I am, until his hands move way to far down and accidentally brush, well, you know.

"There's no need to grope me!" I exclaim, kneeing him in the stomach. He loses his balance and falls on top of me with a thud.

"Ouch!" I exclaim, squirming under him. "Move."

"Rose, is that you?"

"Yes, you idiot!"

The girl, quiet until now, lets out a little squeal. "Oh, let me find the light. Just a second. Oh, god. I'm so sorry, Art. I didn't know-"

At last her hand finds the switch, and bright light floods the room. I blink, my vision blurry, as it adjusts to the lights.

My first sight is of Art, bent over beside me, holding his stomach. He's not wearing a shirt, and his black bangs have fallen down into his eyes. Okay, so maybe I kneed him with more force than necessary. No harm done.

The second thing I see is Briar.

Her black hair is mussed, and her lipstick is smudged around her face. She bends over Art, running a hand along his bare back, and I feel something similar to jealousy in the pit of my stomach. I look over and see his sweatshirt, tossed on the floor in a pool of green.

"What are you doing here?" I demand, though it's pretty obvious.

"I could say the same," he wheezes.

I shake my head, and then open the cabinet. "Getting stuff for my sleepover with Karryoun and Kayla."

"Oh," he says, while Briar looks somewhat hurt. Yeah, we were friends, back before we were taken prisoner. Since we got here, she's been nothing but mean to me. So there was no way I was going to invite her.

"Yeah." I reach in and grab two bags of cheese puffs, then think better of it and take a third, along with a bar of chocolate. "Well, bye."

I dash out of there before I break and ask them what he was doing making out with her. _I'm_ his friend. He should have told me. But him and Briar? Gross.

I rush back into my room in no time, much to the relief of an anxious Kayla and Karryoun. They demand to know what happened, and I'll I tell them is that the kitchen was locked but someone came and unlocked it, went in, left, and forgot to lock it back. They exchange a disbelieving glance, but I just smile innocently.

"Let's eat, shall we?" I say, ripping open one of the bags.

We stay up all night, finally falling asleep around the break of dawn. It's Johanna who finds us in the morning, knocking on doors to wake people up. She takes in the cheese puffs and our tired eyes, but says nothing, just turns and heads out the door.

"Wait," I exclaim, stumbling to my feet and chasing after her. I put my hand on her arm. She spins around, eyes flashing.

"What?"

"Is there any way you can stop this?" I plead, surprised by the words that come out of my mouth. I had wanted to ask her not to tell about the cheese puffs and the sleepover…instead these words found their way out. Now I'm begging. "Please. My friends, they don't deserve to die. If you have to, kill me, but please, let them-"

She frowns. "It's been voted upon. The games begin in five days. I'm sorry." And she really does look sorry.

"Me, too," I whisper, backing away. "Sorry that we did this to you all these years. I'm so, so sorry."

She looks like she doesn't believe me, but whatever.

We put on new suits-different ones from the kind we've been wearing for the past week, which is good, because they've suffered enough wear and tear for a lifetime. Kayla goes down to breakfast, but Karryoun and I pass. My stomach is still unsettled. I feel like I might throw up at any time.

When we meet in the hall outside the training room, the atmosphere is suffocating. We're all a bundle of nerves. We line up by first-name alphabetical order, so Art is the first in line and I'm stuck in the back between some girl named Quinn and Sander, who keeps telling me jokes. I offer him a forced smile.

They call Art, and I struggle to keep from yelling after him. Telling him he doesn't have to go in there, and that we can run. We'll survive. Somehow.

He shoots us all a wary smile before he goes in, and I realize I didn't even ask him what he was doing for the judges. _I_ don't even know what I'm doing. I don't have a specific talent. I peer up in the line and see Emera wringing her hands together. She's got it worse than me, at least. Her body is not in the least athletic.

I realize the District children have an unfair advantage over us. Unless you're built like Sander or Tercer, you're not strong, you've not been trained, and you're not agile. We've grown up on three meals a day and general laziness.

One by one, the people filter in, but I never see them come out. I start freaking out, wondering if the Districts change they're mind and they're bring being executed in the room. Sander assures me there's probably just a different entrance they must go out of. That calms me some, but not much.

When my name is called, I freeze. I can't move. My feet aren't working and neither is my brain. Sander gives me an encouraging push and I am forced to march forward, keeping my head high, even though I want to collapse.

I walk through the doors, and unconsciously, my eyes head straight for the balcony overhead. I slow my steps, and then stop completely. No one's there. I spin around, searching the room for someone-anyone-and see video cameras up high on the walls, aimed toward me. Oh. So they're too chicken to come see us in person. That's fine. Or…or maybe…maybe this is being televised. We never televised the tribute scoring, but they may want to rub it in our family's faces. Great.

I take a bow, just to irk them, and flash a smile, waving enthusiastically.

I'm absolutely horrible at shooting the bows, and I quickly use up all of the arrows, missing the target each time. There's a beep from overhead.

"Time up," an electronic voice says.

I turn back to the cameras and fake-curtsy, doing my best to keep smiling. All I want to do is cry. I hate crying. I hate people to see me cry.

There is a back entrance-which I practically run out of and straight back into the depths of my room. Of something comforting.

I hate myself.


	4. The Kiss

Hello! :D

Thank you for all the reviews! I absolutely love them.

Real quick: I'm having a contest! *said in a singsong voice* And I'd love it if you enter! Check it out under my profile. It's called "AlmostSummer Writing Contest." (I win creative name of the year.) :)

On another note, this chapter was fun to write. A big something happens, and I'd like to know what you think of it. Also, I want to mention that there IS some name-calling in this chapter. I don't condone name calling. I fact, I kind of hate it. I also never use the words in this story in real life. Just because characters say it doesn't mean you should. Keep that in mind while reading!

Otherwise-enjoy! :D

-Homey :)

**Disclaimer:** Suzanne Collins created the world of The Hunger Games.

©HomeschoolGirl 2012, characters and plot. Please don't use this as your own. Thanks!

* * *

><p>I don't leave my room until lunch the next day. I grab my food and head toward Karryoun and Sander, then stop. Art's sitting with them, his arm slung around Briar. My mind goes blank. All I see is his hand, barely grazing her shoulders, fingers dipping down occasionally to stroke her upper arm. Affection-I see affection. It makes me sick.<p>

I hear someone calling my name. With relief, I turn and see it's Kayla, at the opposite end of the lunchroom. Her red hair is in its usual halfhearted braid, and her round face is full of delight.

"Will you sit with us?" She asks as I come forward.

I take in the people around me. I recognize Uzzi, who is not exactly her boyfriend but sticks around all the same. Master is there too. He smiles when he sees me and nods. The rest of the kids I don't recognize.

"Sure," I say at last, sitting down next to some girl with dark hair and a no-nonsense look about her. She smiles at me, though, and her hard exterior softens. She's not unlike Bena, with her calloused elbows and brown eyes and narrow features. In contrast, though, her skin is a warm chocolate. I like her at once.

"I'm Satchal," She says as I dig into my sandwich. I'm not sure what kind it is, but it tastes good.

"Rose," I say around a mouthful of food. I extend my hand. She just laughs.

"What?" I ask, looking around.

She holds up her right hand and smiles. I stare at it, surprised. The back of her hand is fine. Her skin is the same beautiful color. But she has no fingers.

"That's not fair," I say at last, swallowing my food. I reach out and tentatively touch the mound where her thumb should be. The skin is sensitive, and soft as cotton.

She shakes her head. "Nah, it's fine. I'm lethal, really."

I try not to scoff and instead shrug.

Kayla introduces the rest of the people. There's Corrianna, who's my height. Her brown hair is a shade darker than mine, though, and her eyes are a fuzzy grey. Next to her sits Wain, a boy who I only remember once he introduces himself. He was on the winner's side during training day. Figures.

I realize I am sitting with all the winners. I wonder why they don't mind me being here. Maybe they thought Holly had an unfair advantage-not that I'd disagree. She's practically an animal.

I see her a moment later, striding up to Art. My eyes automatically fixate on her angular figure. She walks with purpose, head held high.

She finally makes it to their table and asks him something. He shrugs.

I watch, biting my lip, as she says something else-with a sneer, no less, and Briar stands. She puts her hands on her hips, saying something to Holly. I can only make out a few words.

"…idiot…drag him down…he's great…"

I'm sure she's talking about me. Fantastic.

I stand, without even really making the decision to, and march over to where they're standing. Art sees me and lowers his eyes. Karryoun turns to me with a worried look on her face and shakes her head in a silent, 'Go Back.' I ignore her.

"Oh look, it's her now," Briar says with disdain, frowning at me.

I force a smile and sidle up next to Karryoun. "Hey guys."

"Told you so," Briar says, turning back to Holly. I see then what I couldn't when I was sitting five tables away. They're not arguing. They're talking. They're friends.

"Camaraderie, huh?" I ask in a sharp tone. Briar rolls her eyes but stares straight ahead. Holly, however, looks over at me.

"Yes. We have something in common, I've found."

"And what's that?"

She smirks and leans forward, close to Art. "We hate you."

I look down, toward my so-called best friend, but he says nothing. What a loser.

Karryoun, however, stands up next to me. She takes my hand.

"You two shut up. Rose never did anything to you. She's kind and smart and funny. You're just jealous because she'd never be friends with a couple of losers like you." She tugs on my hand, pulling me toward Kayla. "Come on. Let's go."

I'm in such shock my legs comply, and soon I'm sitting back down next to Satchal. She's smiling, and laughing.

"That was awesome, Karryoun."

Kayla nods her agreement. "I didn't know you had it in you."

I take a deep breath. "Thank you." I turn to Karryoun. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

She shrugs and smiles. "I know. But I wanted to."

I lean forward and hug her, insanely grateful for a friend like her-for someone who has stuck by me at my worst.

"You're going to make it out alive," I whisper into her shoulder. "I just know you will. I'll make sure of it."

She grins. "What about Art?"

"Screw Art. He's a worthless idiot."

Kayla tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "He likes you. You know that, right? He really does."

I shake my head. "Not really. Not anymore."

They don't argue with me, just go back to eating.

* * *

><p>We're all told to turn on the television in our rooms immediately after training. I get back and take a quick shower, slick my hair into a ponytail, and sit on my bed. I pick up the remote and power the TV on.<p>

I see him at once. Caesar Flickerman. For the first time in years, he's without the ridiculous Capitol makeup. His hair, so many colors in years before, has faded into a salt and pepper gray. It's cut short. He has a bit of stubble on his chin. His face, stocked full of facelifts and plastics, has sagged. He looks old.

His smile is the same, though. He grins at the camera and leans back in his chair.

"Looks like we've set out to have a very interesting Games this year. All the Capitol children are doing marvelously." He clears his throat. "Um, now I'm going to reveal the scores and-" He pauses, pressing his hand to his ear.

I've never heard Caesar say 'um' before. Never. It worries me, to watch him. He's flustered and nervous and he keeps pausing, as if he's not sure what to say. For years he's been confident, assured, and funny. I wonder what they did to reduce him to an anxious, blubbering fool.

I watch as one-by-one, my friends and enemies alike are scored. Kayla gets a seven, Briar gets a six, Art gets a six, Sander gets a nine, so on and so forth. I'm surprised that Satchal makes a ten. Holly gets the same. Poor Emera gets a two.

Finally my picture pops up. I can't believe it.

There's no number. It's blank.

"They said this girl terminated her scoring session," Caesar says, chuckling. "She's the granddaughter of President Snow. Guess they're not that much different, eh?"

_Not that much different. Not that much different._

I feel rage bubble up inside of me. I get to my feet, lurching forward and push the TV off it's stand. It crashes to the ground, showering me with sparks and glass. I continue to kick it, over and over. Mercilessly.

I hear the door open and someone rushes in. To arms close around me, pulling back. I know it's Art. I see the pale hands clasp over my own, stilling me.

He pushes me into the bathroom and closes the door, locking it behind us. I glare at him. My heart is pounding and I feel sick.

"You're bleeding," he says at last, reaching for my hand.

"I don't care!" I yell in his face. He flinches, and leans against the door.

"Be quiet, Rose. They're going to punish you for this."

"I don't care!" I yell again, as loudly as I can. "Let them! I hope they do! I hope they kill me now!"

He rolls his eyes. "Enough dramatics."

"I'm not being dramatic-I'm being realistic!" I pause to catch my breath, breath heaving. There are shallow scrapes all over my legs, seeing as I chose to wear shorts, and an especially deep gash across my knee.

"Let me help you," Art says, bending over. The blood is pooling on the floor. I feel a little sick. I'm forced to sit on the edge of the tub.

I watch without word as he works over my legs. His hands are gentle as he washes the cuts off, then follows with an antibiotic spray. He plasters me with bandages. I look like a mummy when I'm done.

"That was stupid," he says, looking up at me. He's still crouched down. His hands are on my thighs.

"Maybe so, but you heard what they said-" My voice cracks, and I clamp my mouth shut.

"I know." He looks down, tracing a pattern on my leg. "That's why I came. I knew you'd be mad."

"Not so mad as disappointed," I whisper. "He's going to follow me everywhere. He's dead, yet he's still with me."

Art sighs. "I know. And…I'm sorry. About today."

I shake my head. "You're not. Don't lie to me. You made out with Briar and now you're sitting with her at lunch. You didn't even stick up for me."

He looks down. "I like Briar."

"She's mean."

"She's not. Not really." He touches my cheek. "If you'd get to know her-"

"I did know her," I say, pushing his hand away. I stare into his eyes. "I did know her, and we used to be friends."

He kisses me.

One minute we feel miles apart, the next we couldn't be closer. His hands travel to my neck and he leans forward, pressing his weight against me. I teeter on the edge of the tub then fall in. Our bodies make a dull thud.

His hand travels to my calf, up to the crook of my knee. He pulls my leg up over his hip, and I eagerly comply.

"Wait-stop," I command when his fingers graze the bottom of my shirt.

He looks up and presses his lips together. "Why?"

I push him away and sit up, awkwardly working my way out of the tub. "Because I'm not…like that. Get out." I feel tears pricking my eyes.

"What?" To his credit, he looks genuinely confused.

"I said get out. Leave me alone. Now."

He stands without word, heading for the door. I watch as he goes without so much has an explanation or an apology.

What the hell _was_ that?

I lift my fingers to my lips. They're trembling slightly, swollen from where Art kissed me. Why would he do that?

The bandage over my gash has fallen off and the wound is pouring fresh blood. I quickly patch it up, but my hands are not as skilled as Art's. I fumble with the bottle of antibiotic spray and end up dropping it twice.

When I go back into the room, the television is gone, all remnants of glass and burning plastic cleared away. I wonder who did it. Johanna, or Art? Maybe even Karryoun or Kayla stopped by. Whoever it was, I wish I could thank them.

I'm still glad I broke that TV, though.

* * *

><p>"Interviews are today!"<p>

I groan and roll over, pulling my blankets up over my head. "Go away, Karryoun. I'm trying to sleep."

"You've had time," she says, coming over and tapping my foot. "There are stylists waiting for us! Finally, some fun."

I raise my head slightly. "Fun? You call that fun?"

She bites her lips. "Um, yes. Fun. We're gong to be pampered." She does a little jug and tugs on my arm. "You missed breakfast, so I bought you an apple."

I eat it slowly, watching as she hurries around her room, picking out my clothes for the day. She finally settles on an orange halter-neck and brown pencil skirt.

"Subtle, but edgy," she says, throwing them in my general direction. They land on the floor by my feet. The neck is cut way too low.

"I don't want to look like a hooker, Karryoun. Take it back."

She pouts. "Come on! I wanted us to be twins. See?"

I only then notice her outfit. She's wearing the exact same thing, except in pink and red. It looks great on her. That may be because she has curves and I don't.

"Karryoun, please-"

She shakes her head. "Change. Now. You have five minutes." She skips out, quite a feat in the stilettos she's wearing.

I decide, after all she's done for me, why not humor her?

I'm standing downstairs less than a moment later, among all the tributes. The boys are still in tousled hair and pajamas, which makes me feel stupid. I see Art, standing across the room, flanked by Briar and Holly. They're both wearing clothes that put our trashy looks to shame.

Briar sees me across the room and grimaces. Art follows her line of sight, and his eyes widen. I clench my fists. I didn't want to look good for him. I did it for Karryoun.

"Quit gawking!" I yell across the room. He blushes and lowers his eyes.

Holly gives me a very rude hand gesture but I ignore it. Instead I go to stand by Emera, who is gorgeous in a sundress.

"Karryoun wants any excuse to dress up," I say, sitting down beside her. I tuck my knees under my chin.

Emera laughs. "I know. She wanted to impress the stylists. You look good, though. Plain, but good." She looks at her own attire and grimaces. "I look poor. I wish I had some fake nails or something."

"Capitol fashions are grotesque."

She sighs. "They're modern. And form-fitting."

I decide not to argue.

Johanna appears then, wearing her usual getup, and I feel even stupider. Karryoun hurries up to me and sits down, grinning ear-to-ear.

"Tonight you all will have your first interviews," Johanna begins in a bored voice, looking at a clipboard. "Each of you has been assigned a stylist. I'm going to read off your names, and number. Go find that door in the hall and get started."

She goes down a very long list, until I'm called along with number eighteen. I wave goodbye to Karryoun and hurry off.

Number eighteen isn't hard to find, seeing as it's toward the end of the hall and plainly marked. I knock on the door and someone opens it.

"Come on in," She says.

I recognize her at once. She's a huge stylist in the Capitol.

Her name is Venia.


	5. The Interviews

Hello! :)

I am SO SORRY for not updating in forever! I've been very busy-not a whole lot of time for writing. :) I owe you guys a gigantic chapter, but I'm afraid this one isn't very big. I just wanted to give you something to tide you over.

Thanks for reading! I love your reviews!

-Homey :D

**Disclaimer: **These new characters may be mine, but the Hunger Games and all respective settings, previous characters, and whatnot belong to Suzanne Collins.

©HomeschoolGirl 2012, characters and plot. Please don't use this as your own. Thanks!

* * *

><p>Venia's halfway through affixing me with glittery black eyelashes before I speak.<p>

"I'm Rose. Uh…it's an honor to meet you."

She grunts a reply, absolutely fixated on her work.

"My friends aren't going to believe it," I try, hoping that maybe she'll respond to flattery. Capitol people tend to do that.

Still nothing.

"Hey, you worked for Katniss, right?"

She jerks up, scraping my cheek with her long fingernail in the process. Damn it. What is _with_ fingernails?

"Oh, I'm sorry," she says in an unapologetic monotone. Like she didn't mean to do it.

I lower my eyes. "Whatever. It's fine."

She dabs at my cheek with a cotton ball and witch hazel before going back to work. She spreads some blush across my cheeks. She trims my hair.

As she stands to get some more makeup, she clears her throat. I study her face. It's covered in intricate gold tattoos.

"Cinna was Katniss's main stylist," she says at last.

"Oh." I sit up a bit straighter. "Is he here?"

"He's dead."

I clamp my mouth shut.

She goes back to work, quite silently. It's like torture. I feel the tension between our bodies. She knows who I am, and she doesn't like it.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Huh?" She gives me a fleeting glance before going back to styling my hair.

"I'm sorry about Cinna. It's not right."

Her words come out sharp and sour. "No it wasn't. But our lovely president didn't care. Cinna rebelled against him. He made Katniss who she was."

I bit my lip. "I know."

She glares at me. "Did he tell you who he was going to kill? Did you know? Do you have also blood on your hands-"

I stand, my whole body shaking. "I am _nothing_ like him! Nothing! He was an evil terrible man and I hated him. It's unfair of people to think that I…" My throat closes and my next words come out strangled. My heart is racing. "That I'm like him."

Venia stares at me thoughtfully. At long last, she reaches out and grasps my shoulder. "I apologize, Rose. I don't usually lose it like that." She smoothes the front of her shirt down. "I'm embarrassed with the way I acted."

"It's fine," I say, waving her off. I sink back down into the chair, and her fingers entwine themselves in my hair.

"I'm thinking you'd be gorgeous with an up-do," she murmurs. I keep my head down, refusing to comment.

The next hour is filled with the silence broken by hair elastics, brushes, curling irons, and even more makeup. At last, when she declares my face finished, I stand and follow her to a wardrobe on the side of the room.

"We used to custom-make the dresses for the tributes," she explains, throwing the doors open. "But with the war…" She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them-cheerful once again. "Well, we don't have the materials anymore."

I take in the rows of colorful gowns, most of them too gaudy or bejeweled for my taste. Venia pulls a few selections and has me try them on.

The first is a floor-length, white gown that she says will go great with my eyelashes. I appraise the hulk of silk, satin, and puffy skirt warily. I get it. Her lack of reaction is comment enough: it looks horrible.

I try on a second, third, and fourth one-all in vain. I'm just about to give up when she pulls a simple, navy-blue number from the rack. I slip it on, past caring if she sees me in my underwear, and smooth it down.

"I like it," she says at last, the only compliment I've gotten from her all day. She turns me toward a mirror.

I smile, seeing myself. The dress flatters me, accentuating the little curve that I do have. The sleeves end at my elbows, making the length of my arms graceful. The top is low-necked, exposing the smallest bit of cleavage, not that I have much anyway. I look…pretty, in fact.

"This is it," I say at last.

Venia clucks her approval. "I think so too. It's funny: I thought you'd go straight for the gaudy things. I like them myself." She shrugs. "You're very much like those from the districts."

I timidly touch the top of the bun piled on my head. She was right: I do look good with an up-do. The whole look is very simple, minus the eyelashes, but the dress and makeup is so plain it allows for a bit of extravagance.

I pick a pair of shoes: shiny black pumps, with thick heels, and she ushers me out into the hall. Together we walk toward the common room, right off the interview area where I'll be talking to Caesar in a few moments.

Most everyone is already gathered, and they turn to look at me when I enter. I duck my head, embarrassed, but not before taking in my newly debonair friends.

Kayla rushes up to me, grabbing my hand. She's in an evergreen dress that compliments her eyes. Her hair is long and loose over her shoulders, freed from its usual braid. She showers me with exclamations. Apparently my hair looks gorgeous, my dress is to die for, and my eyes? Exquisite.

Somehow, I manage a thank you and mumble a compliment. She accepts it, bright-eyed and beaming.

Karryoun soon joins us, beautiful in a puffy pink dress that compliments her figure. Satchal sits with us too, after much prodding from Kayla. Together we in the far corner of the room, hands joined, surveying the people before us.

My throat twitches with envy when I see Briar. She is gorgeous as ever-elegant in black, hair pinned up not unlike mine, lips a cherry red-and she's on Art's arm. It's infuriating.

He looks up and for an impossibly long moment our eyes meet. Briar follows his gaze and sneers, leaning across to whisper something in Holly's ear. I see her gesture to her hair and realize what it looks like. They think I've copied her.

My eyes smart with tears as I yank elastics and bobby pins from my hair, until it falls heavily to rest against my shoulders. Kayla looks over at me with alarm, nudging Karryoun. She looks over at Briar and her eyes darken with understanding.

"Just ignore her," she says, coming up to take my hand.

I run a hand through my hair. It's wavy and surprisingly soft. "I am. I just-"

"I know," she says in a soothing voice. "It sucks."

I clamp my mouth shut, deciding not to answer. A moment later Johanna comes strutting in, appraising us with way eyes. Even she is dressed up a bit.

"Okay, this is how it's going to work," she barks, and everyone grows silent. "We will call your name. Caesar will ask you questions. You will answer honestly. Then you will come back. Got it?"

"Yes," we all say in a deep, bored monotone.

"Good!" She smiles. Once again, the cheerfulness annoys me. All this-every part of it-is leading to our demise. Yet she's happy as a clam.

"First up is…" She pauses, looks down at her clipboard. "Uzzi Clark!"

Uzzi high-fives Kayla and grins, loping toward the exit. He turns around to look at us once before pushing the doors open.

Johanna drags an old TV to the center of the room, so we can watch the interviews. Caesar looks older than ever-absolutely worn-but still he smiles. More smiling. Again and again and again.

Kayla squeezes my hand. "Do you think he'll be okay, Rose?"

I shrug. "It's not like anything can hurt him while he's interviewing."

She sighs shakily. "I guess you're right."

We watch as Uzzi sits down, running a hand through his grey hair-a color I think he dyed it-and smiles.

"How are you today?" Caesar asks simply.

Uzzi looks surprised, but quickly covers it with a laugh. "Such a funny question, is it not? Asking if we're okay. Personally, I'm not, because I'm probably going to die."

Kayla groans, dropping her head into her hands.

"He told me he was going to do this," she said after a long pause. "But I didn't believe him." She raises her head, and I see her eyes are teary. "He's going to get himself killed with that smart ass attitude."

I bite my lip, reaching out to touch her shoulder. "It's okay. I've already set the bar pretty low-I don't think they'll think he's much of a threat."

"But…" Kayla takes a deep breath and forces a smile, sitting up. "Okay, I guess you're right."

Karryoun rubs her arm soothingly as we watch the rest of the interview. Caesar seems to realize Uzzi's not going to answer his questions fully and cuts the three-minute interview short. He emerges a moment later, calling Satchel.

"You idiot!" Kayla says upon seeing him. She leaps to her feet and goes over, pushing against his chest. "Why would you do that?"

I watch silently as he catches her wrist and stares down at her. "Calm down, Kayla. It's okay. We're okay."

"Uzzi, why? Do you want them to take you away from me? Do you want to die?"

"No-"

"Then WHY?" She's furious, hands pounding against him, faster and faster still, so much that it has to hurt. I start to stand, wanting to pull her away, but Karryoun yanks me back down.

"Wait," she hisses when I protest.

Sure enough, Kayla's hands slow until finally she just collapses, leaning against him, absolutely sobbing. Johanna watches from the back of the room, a weird, twisted expression on her face.

"Can we step out for a minute," Uzzi calls out to her.

Johanna begins to shake her head and then reconsiders. "Stay just outside the doors, then. Okay? You need to be back in five minutes."

He nods and pulls Kayla from the room, whispering into her hair. I watch them with a pang. Over and over again, it keeps hitting me that there's no way out.

I turn my attention back to the TV, watching Satchel's interview, followed by Master, Corrianna, and Tercer.

Kayla ghosts back in after that, sitting down beside me. I reach for her hand and she lets me take it, rather reluctantly.

"It'll be okay," I tell her.

She takes a shuddery breath. "I don't know. I just don't know."

Holly's interview comes several people later. I jump when her name is called, surprised. She struts up to the doors, turning to smile at Briar before pushing through. Then we're all silent, watching the TV, and I realize how intimidated by her everyone is.

She sits down by Caesar, smoothing her puffy, multi-colored skirt, and offers him a forced smile. He nods.

"So, Holly, right?"

"Yes," she replies in her nasal voice.

He looks down at his clipboard, stifling a yawn. "And you're how old, dear?"

"Seventeen."

He takes in her narrow eyes, pinched nose, and sober expression. "So young."

She shrugs, unbothered. "Yes, but aren't we all?"

"Uh," is his reply, and I can feel him drifting. He's hardly present, at least not anymore, on the brink of sleep.

"Obviously the Capitol had him drugged before," Kayla whispers.

I nod. That much is apparent, and once again I feel a little pang for him.

Holly just sits there the whole time, the annoyed expression on her face becoming ever more present. Caesar mumbles something and she grunts.

He closes his eyes and they flutter back open. "So, how do you feel about being in the games?

"It's fine," she says with a smile. "I'm going to win." She leans closer, obviously a show, because her next words come out at full volume. "I have a secret weapon."

He raises his bushy eyebrows. "You do, do you?"

She nods then holds up her hands. I see her fingernails, spiky and coated with blue paint. "These. I've always let them grow out, because I love the way it looks, but they work like knives."

"Ah," Caesar says slowly, words measured. "I see."

All I see is that she's probably going to use them on me.


	6. Author's Note: PLEASE READ

Hello!

I just wanted to begin by thanking you all for all of your support. **You Love Me** got a total 469 reviews, which is absolutely AMAZING. I am so grateful, I can't even begin to express how I feel. :)

I'm taking a break from writing **Thorns**, **V****iolet Sunset**, **Now**, and even **Being Grimm**-which I just recently began. I need to evaluate what sort of stories I want to write, and what kind of writing I do. I love writing-it's such a big part of my life-and I'm so glad to have shared it with you all. Thank you for your support, reviews, and favorites. I have read _every _review I've ever gotten for all of my stories, and I so appreciate each one. :D

I'm not going to quit these stories forever, per-say, but it's not fair to have you waiting for a new chapter if I'm not going to post. Enjoy your summer, and I'll see you again in the Fall!

Much thanks,

Homey :)


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